


The Start of Something Wonderful

by Spikedluv



Category: Primeval
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, First Time, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Stephen’s part of the reason Nick gets drunk every year, it’s pretty awkward when Stephen shows up to keep Nick company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Start of Something Wonderful

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round nine of smallfandomfest for the prompt: Nick/Stephen Nick gets drunk on the anniversary of Helen's disappearance, as he does every year. He just wishes it was because he missed her, rather than because he feels like he's betraying what was left of their marriage by falling in love with Stephen.
> 
> Written: June 6, 2011

“What are you doing here?” Nick said, wishing he’d gone with his first instinct and started on the drink he’d already poured, rather than answering the door.

“Getting drunk,” Stephen said, pressing the bottle he’d brought to Nick’s chest as he pushed past him and headed into the living room where Nick already had a bottle and tumbler waiting for himself. “Isn’t that what you had planned?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember inviting you,” Nick said as he closed the door with a resigned sigh and followed Stephen into the house.

“Well, you are getting old,” Stephen commented. He picked up the scotch Nick had poured for himself and took a sip.

“Looks like you’re going to need another glass for yourself,” Stephen said as he dropped onto the couch. “This is good stuff,” he added, holding the glass up to Nick.

“Thank you,” Nick said wryly. He set the bottle Stephen had brought onto the coffee table next to the other. He wasn’t surprised that Stephen knew his favorite brand, much less his drink of choice.

“Why are you here, Stephen?”

“The scintillating conversation and good drink aren’t reason enough?” Stephen said, and then took another sip.

Nick gave in. The last thing he needed was to have Stephen there on this particular night, but he feared that arguing about it until Stephen left would give the matter more importance in Stephen’s mind than Nick wanted it to have. He could do without Stephen setting his brain to worrying over this particular puzzle until he came up with the wrong answer. Or, worse yet, the correct one.

Nick got out another tumbler and filled it from the open bottle. He threw it back, and then refilled the glass before setting the bottle down. Nick hesitated before sitting. He’d been planning on making himself comfortable on the couch, but now that would mean sitting next to Stephen. However, sitting in the chair meant _looking_ at Stephen – the way he was sprawled across the cushions, the way he licked his lips after taking a sip, the way his throat worked when he swallowed – which held dangers of its own.

“I don’t bite,” Stephen said.

“I bloody well know that, Stephen,” Nick said as he settled onto the couch, ignoring Stephen’s smirk, but not quite able to ignore the way his body reacted to the suggestion. He could almost feel the phantom sting of Stephen’s teeth in his shoulder. To cover, Nick took another sip.

Nick finished his drink in silence, and then refilled the glass once more. He held the bottle out to Stephen, who shook his head. Nick set the bottle down and took another sip.

“I thought you came for the drink,” Nick said (though he knew he should leave it alone), indicating the inch of scotch still in the bottom of Stephen’s glass.

“Don’t forget the scintillating conversation,” Stephen said wryly.

Nick snorted. There’d certainly been none of that. And given how drunk he planned on getting, there wouldn’t be.

“Why _are_ you here?” Nick asked again, not really expecting a serious answer. And not really knowing whether he wanted one.

“Because you need someone to look after you,” Stephen said. He finished his drink, and then leaned forward and refilled the glass.

Nick wanted to deny it, but every year on the anniversary of Helen’s disappearance he got soused, and it was Stephen who plied him with aspirin and water, and then took his classes so Nick could sleep it off in his office.

Instead Nick said, “You’re a little early,” and took another sip.

It was gone so fast Nick almost missed the expression that crossed Stephen’s face, though it _was_ too quick for him to determine what it meant.

Before he could dwell on it, Stephen said, “Why do you do it?”

It was the first time Stephen had ever asked him that, in all the years he’d been cleaning up after him those mornings after. Nick stared into the amber liquid as if he might find the answer there. He certainly couldn’t tell Stephen the truth.

“Do you miss her that much?” Stephen asked, and Nick snorted before he could censor himself.

Nick finished his drink in one swallow so he didn’t have to look at Stephen. When he reached for the bottle, Stephen was there first. Instead of pouring, he moved the bottle out of Nick’s reach.

“Damn it, Stephen!”

Stephen, of long practice, ignored Nick’s outburst.

“If not because you miss her, then why?”

“Because I _don’t_ miss her!” Nick exploded, and then almost immediately regretted it. He deflated, melting into the cushions. “I mean, I notice that she’s gone,” he explained. “Her favorite take away’s not in the fridge, her favorite biscuits aren’t in the cupboard. But I don’t . . . I don’t read something and think, I need to tell Helen about this. I don’t roll over in bed and wish she was there.”

No, those types of thoughts were reserved for Stephen.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Nick said. “Miss her?”

“Why?” Stephen shrugged.

Before Nick could reply to that, Stephen went on. “You told me yourself that your marriage was practically over when she disappeared.”

Which was why drinking with Stephen was always a bad idea.

“That’s not . . . ,” Nick began.

“You need to stop blaming yourself, Nick. You did everything you could to find her. And you need to stop beating yourself up over the fact that you don’t love her, or miss her.”

But it was worse than that. “Sometimes I’m glad she’s gone,” Nick admitted. “I’m . . . happier now.”

He didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing and setting Helen off, didn’t have to worry about disappointing her, didn’t have to wonder where she was late at night, but most importantly, he didn’t have to share Stephen with her.

“You deserve to be happy,” Stephen said.

Nick shook his head. He knew he hadn’t caused Helen’s disappearance, hadn’t even wished for it, exactly, but he had often wished that things were _different_ , and it felt wrong to find happiness in her misfortune.

“Look, Cutter,” Stephen said, snapping Nick out of his thoughts.

Nick waited, but Stephen didn’t say anything else. Instead he tossed back the rest of his drink, and then reached for the bottle. Stephen held it out to Nick, who automatically put his glass out so Stephen could refill it, and then he splashed some of the liquid into his own glass. Stephen stared into the glass, though he neither drank, nor spoke.

“What were you going to say?” Nick prodded.

Stephen jumped, startled out of his thoughts. “I don’t remember,” he said, as he set the bottle back down and leaned back on the couch.

Nick watched Stephen’s face as he reconsidered the lie. “Just . . . you need to move on. You need to stop this . . . _wallowing_. It isn’t healthy.”

Nick wished he hadn’t had that third drink, because there was something he was missing, just out of reach of his inebriated brain cells.

“Who would have me?” Nick said, deciding to ignore that elusive . . . something for now. “I’m cranky on a good day, and I spend all my time at work. No one wants that.”

Helen certainly hadn’t.

Stephen rolled his eyes, seemingly back on firmer footing. “There are plenty of people who would ‘have you’,” he said.

“Name one,” Nick retorted, himself feeling on safer ground now that the conversation had moved from his reasons for getting drunk to theoretical dates. He loved debating with Stephen, loved the way Stephen’s mind worked.

“Margaret, in the supply office.”

“She’s 80 years old!” Nick said, aghast.

Stephen huffed a sigh. “That’s Barbara, and she’s only 60. And besides, she’s married. The other one.”

“The one that looks like she’d be afraid of her own shadow? She cringes every time she sees me coming!”

If Nick was in the mood to admit anything, he might admit that he was usually snarling like a bear each time he saw her.

“Perhaps,” Stephen said, “but I’ve seen how much she, uh, _appreciates_ watching you leave.”

Nick felt heat rising in his cheeks. “She does not!”

Stephen smirked, then hid it behind the glass as he took a sip, but he couldn’t hide the mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Name someone else,” Nick demanded.

“James,” Stephen said immediately, eyes still gleaming.

“James? James VanAlstyne?” When Stephen nodded, Nick went on. “He’s a first year, for god’s sake!”

“And he comes to see you every time you hold office hours,” Stephen pointed out.

“He’s a diligent student,” Nick insisted.

“Professor Cutter,” Stephen mimicked, “tell me again about that time you went to the Amazon and wrestled a bear.”

“There aren’t any bears in the Amazon,” Nick pointed out, struggling not to laugh at the impersonation. It was unkind, perhaps, to make fun of the boy, but spot on. “And you can’t seriously be telling me I should date an 18 year old boy!”

“19,” Stephen corrected, “but no, I was just pointing out that there are people who would be interested in, as you put it, ‘having you’.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Stephen,” Nick said, “but I . . . .”

“Can’t betray the memory of your missing wife, even though she didn’t give a rat’s ass about you when she was here?” Stephen said bitterly, and then froze, as if just realizing what he’d said. “I . . . sorry, that was out of line.”

Stephen tossed back the drink he’d poured for himself, and then forgotten.

“I should go. Leave you to . . . .” Stephen gestured towards the bottles. “I’ll just lay out some aspirin and a glass of water before I leave. It’ll help if you take them before you go to bed.”

Nick watched Stephen stand, and then start to walk out of the room. He rose and followed him. Nick wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but he needed time to figure it out. He stood in the doorway and watched Stephen rinse out his glass and set it in the sink before getting a clean one down from the cupboard and filling it with water for Nick. Stephen set the glass on the counter, then got the bottle of aspirin out of the drawer. He shook two into his hand and set them beside the water.

“You’re right,” Nick said, and Stephen froze for a second before replacing the cap on the bottle.

Nick had marked each anniversary of Helen’s disappearance by getting drunk in part because he _did_ feel guilty for not missing her, and in part because he had developed feelings for someone else, which made him feel even more guilty, but he thought now that mostly . . . mostly he’d just been afraid, and hiding his fear behind his guilt.

“I _should_ move on,” he told Stephen. “But, you know, the people you mentioned, they don’t know me. They don’t know that I’m grouchy in the morning before I’ve had coffee.”

Stephen snorted. “And afternoon, and evening.” He dropped the bottle back into the drawer and turned to face Nick.

Nick shrugged his agreement. Cranky was sort of his default.

“They don’t know that I can get so caught up in my work that I forget about class.”

“Or to eat,” Stephen supplied.

“Where am I going to find someone who’d put up with that?” Nick said, holding Stephen’s eyes.

Nick walked across the kitchen to Stephen. He reached around Stephen to set his glass on the counter, and heard his sharp intake of breath. Nick had been afraid, still was, truth be told, but maybe he didn’t need to be.

“I’ve been telling myself that moving on would be betraying what was left of my marriage when Helen . . . disappeared, but really I think I was scared.”

“Of what?” Stephen got out on the second try.

“Of falling in love again. Of admitting that I needed someone.”

“Everyone needs someone.”

“Yes,” Nick said dryly, “but I’m apparently pretty high maintenance. I need someone to take care of me.” He glanced at the glass of water and aspirin sitting on the counter. “Remind me about class. Bring me food. Force me to grade papers. Keep me in coffee.”

Stephen cleared his throat. “It’s not that difficult, really.”

“Maybe not at first,” Nick said, “but it’ll get old after a while.”

“I’ve been doing it for 8 years, Cutter,” Stephen scoffed. “If someone loves you, they’ll . . . .”

“They’ll what?”

“They’ll, um, manage.”

“Like you do. Manage,” Nick clarified at Stephen’s expression.

“Oh. Yes. That’s . . . .”

“Why have you stuck around, Stephen? I know you’ve had better offers. Crimshaw wanted you on his expedition last year.”

“Crimshaw’s an idiot,” Stephen said. “And besides, I enjoy my job.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Enjoy taking care of me?”

“That’s not my job,” Stephen said, and then clearly thought maybe he shouldn’t have said it.

“No,” Nick said. “It’s not your job. And yet you do it. Without complaint. Well, not counting that one time I screwed up the coffee maker.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times to stay away from the coffee maker,” Stephen said. It was an old argument, and Nick enjoyed, perhaps too much, the way Stephen’s face got all red when he yelled at Nick about it.

“Yes. I’m sorry about that,” Nick said, and watched Stephen’s mulish expression turn gobsmacked.

“You, um, okay. Apology accepted. How much have you had to drink?”

“You interrupted me before I could get started.”

“Oh.”

“I was a little bit annoyed. I’d been working myself into a good snit and you took the air out of my sails.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be. Turns out I needed a good kick in the ass.”

“Oh. Well. Good. I’m glad I could be here to provide it.”

“Me, too,” Nick said. “I feel like there’s other things we should talk about.”

“You want to talk?” Stephen said, eyes wide.

“I need to apologize for, well, a lot. Like taking you for granted.”

“Oh, well, that’s . . . .”

“We could do that now, or we could do it in the morning.”

“Uh, morning?”

“Mmm hmm,” Nick said, letting his eyes drop to Stephen’s lips.

Nick had thought about kissing them before. Sometimes when Stephen was talking, Nick’s attention would drift to his lips, and he’d miss everything he said. Usually when Stephen was explaining to Nick why he had to grade essays, or fill out requisition forms, but even sometimes when Stephen was talking about a particularly fascinating discovery that under normal circumstances would interest Nick greatly.

Stephen wet his lips, and Nick made a sound in his throat; he couldn’t help it. He looked into Stephen’s eyes, and saw an expression he’d seen there before, though he’d never realized it had been directed at him. Nick brought their mouths together. He licked Stephen’s lips, and then took the bottom between his teeth. Stephen made a sound that Nick had never heard before; had never dreamt he’d hear.

Nick pressed their lips together, and sought entrance with his tongue. He moaned in pleasure when Stephen parted his lips and let him in. Their tongues met, and like a starving man Nick devoured. He explored, and mapped, and claimed. When they parted for air, Stephen’s panting breaths against his neck sent tendrils of arousal sliding through his body.

“Nick, do you know what you’re doing?” Stephen asked breathlessly.

“I think so,” Nick said as he dragged his lips over Stephen’s throat. “That was called a kiss, right?”

“Don’t be an ass, Cutter!” Stephen began, but before he could finish, Nick kissed him again.

Nick buried his fingers in Stephen’s hair and held his head as he took what he wanted from him. Stephen moaned into Nick’s mouth, and then his hands were on the sides of Nick’s head, gently cradling, and then positioning him just the way Stephen wanted him. Nick coaxed Stephen’s tongue into his mouth, and let Stephen take the lead on the kiss as he slid his hand down Stephen’s back and pressed, bringing their groins together.

Stephen groaned, and bucked his hips into Nick’s. He deepened the kiss as Nick slid his hand lower, dragged Stephen in closer. They rubbed against one another as they kissed, making noises of pleasure and need until Nick couldn’t tell from which throat the sounds issued.

It had been so long since Nick had done this. Not just sex, but the urgency, the need so powerful that they had to have each other where they stood, rather than go to the bedroom. Standing in the kitchen, lights on, windows unshuttered, so that anyone walking by could see them if they took the time to look. Nick whined into Stephen’s mouth as he imagined it, pictured what they looked like rutting together against the sink. He lost it, muscles going taut as he came in his shorts like a teenager.

Nick moaned as he emptied himself, then panted against Stephen’s skin as he tried to recover. He pressed his lips to Stephen’s skin, pressed kisses along his jaw and down his neck. When he reached Stephen’s shoulder, Nick closed his teeth on him, just the way he’d imagined Stephen doing to him.

Stephen swore and went still against him, and then his hips moved. Nick dragged his mouth back up, and kissed Stephen as he shook through his climax. Nick held Stephen when he slumped against him, and waited. Stephen pressed his face to Nick’s throat, and then he took a shuddering breath.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Stephen?” Nick asked softly, repeating Stephen’s question from moments ago.

“Well,” Stephen said, his panting breaths tickling Nick’s skin. “I think that was more than a kiss.”

“Yes,” Nick agreed.

Much more. Possibly the start of something wonderful.

The End


End file.
